To Be His
by FlowerFairyPrincess1110
Summary: "You're even more beautiful than you were back then. I have long desired you. I dreamed of you, of taking all that you are and making it my own. You feel it too – the desire – don't you? You see, you may lie to yourself all you please, but I know you want me... I will wait for as long as I have to, but I will have you, darling. You cannot resist me forever." Mordred/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! This is my first foray into writing for Merlin, and I'm a little nervous about it. I just watched the last episode of series 5 again and it really cut me to pieces that Mordred died like that. I LOVE his character, and I really love Alexander Vlahos ;-) I found him a really awesome character, with just so much potential to play around with. So I figured I'd give it a go. This story follows the events of series 1-4, with my OC character installed - her role will become clearer as the story progresses. This becomes AU after the series 5 episode 'Arthur's Bane - Part 2'.  
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 **I don't have the very best track record with writing OCs, and I'd really appreciate any constructive criticism you have on mine so far. I'm super worried it comes across that I'm turning her into a Mary Sue, and I really REALLY don't want that to happen.**

 **Warning: updates may not be regular, as I'm starting university this year; also because I have issues writing multi-chap stories. Any suggestions you feel like putting in would be awesome, it'd be nice to know what you'd like to see from this story. Also, rating is _very_ likely to be upped soon.  
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 **Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the TV series Merlin, only my invented character Mairwen. Also, I can't take credit for the sexual tension in this chapter; I was totally inspired by** **LightningBugInSummer and their story _Love me_. Give it a read if you like fem!Merlin/Mordred fics.**

 **Enjoy!**

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She remembered him, this young man before her.

It was years ago that she had last beheld his face; it seemed that all that was similar between boy and man was the dark hair, eyes the colour of the sky, the alabaster skin that glowed in the polished throne room. For certainly the scrawny child that was had developed into a finely formed male specimen – she could not help but notice. But much had changed since the day she first met the little boy, a child herself, and helped… Morgana… to lull her father into a false sense of security while Arthur smuggled him out of the city. She remembered the strange, cold stare, the whisper brushing across her thoughts, as though he was somehow seeing into her. And she could not forget it – the way he had said her name in her mind. _Mairwen. Mairwen._ She shivered lightly at the remembrance, attracting the attention of the one kneeling before her. She quickly broke eye contact, choosing to stare at the pretty tapestries adorning the walls.

Yes, he had magic – he was a Druid, after all. What she failed to understand was how Arthur didn't realise the fact, for she certainly recalled all the instances Merlin had informed her of the boy's use of sorcery before his very eyes – she had even seen it herself, the time he had broken the mirror in Morgana's chambers. Perhaps he was deliberately repressing it; perhaps he genuinely did not know; perhaps… perhaps he had been enchanted to forget by this man. From what Merlin had confided to her, he was to be Arthur's doom, and she was damned if she let this young upstart destroy all they had worked for for so long.

"Arise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot," rang out Arthur's voice. All the hall burst into applause for this strange saviour, one who had come out of nowhere to save their King from the clutches of the feared Morgana Pendragon.

Her brother nudged her lightly, subtly; she realised she had not been clapping for the man, and that he had indeed noticed it, if the gaze he had levelled upon her form was anything to go by. She hastily brought her hands from behind her back and joined in with the cacophony of sound, smiling politely at the knight. His lips upturned graciously, proudly, as he turned to accept the praise of the courtiers.

The party moved to the banquet hall for celebrations, as was custom for a knighting ceremony. Once she was excused from her duties as princess of the realm, the first thing she did was head over to where Merlin was standing, leaning against the stone pillar behind Arthur, on call for his every whim. She rolled her eyes lightly as Arthur had him pour a goblet of mead for him; the pitcher was right in front of him, certainly within reach and certainly useable if one wasn't so socially inept as her dolt of a brother. Sliding in behind him, she engaged him in conversation, smiling prettily should anyone cast their eyes over them.

"What is he doing here?" she hissed out the corner of her mouth, aiming her eyes subtly to where Mordred was standing in the middle of the elite knights, apparently deep in pleasant conversation.

Merlin grinned as though she had said something amusing to her – it was well known the two were close friends, even though it was the object of a deep degree of suspicion amongst the nobles. "I don't know. He was part of the group that captured me and Arthur, but he turned on them. He stabbed Morgana," he paused, unable to believe even now. "Maybe… maybe Kilgharrah was wrong, maybe he doesn't kill Arthur."

"You said it yourself," she replied, nodding at the passing Lord of Orkney. "The dragon may be self-serving, but when it came to destiny he was never wrong."

"Yeah. I'll keep an eye on him," Merlin said, patting her shoulder lightly before returning to Arthur's side.

"Me too," she said under her breath.

She stood there, back pressed against the pillar, away from everyone else for as long as she could be. It was amusing to watch those around her – people-watching was a mild hobby of hers, as few expected a woman of noble birth to have enough intelligence to make assumptions on character, thus clearing the way for her to look freely upon the scene before her. Mairwen rolled her eyes as she watched Arthur stumble over to Gwen, pressing a drunken kiss to her lips. He couldn't hold his ale, so she couldn't understand why he continued to drink it so copiously.

"My lord," came a voice behind her. She turned around and smiled as she beheld the man before her.

"Sir Gwaine," she said – Gwaine had given Arthur the annoying moniker of Princess; when he had actually discovered there was already a princess in Camelot he decided to give her her very own nickname, along the same lines as the King's.

"What is a beautiful young woman such as you doing over here, all alone, on a night as fine as this?" he asked, slinging his arm over her shoulder. She shifted uncomfortably as her weight re-distributed itself to support this gigantic hulk of man and armour.

"Talking to you," she replied vaguely. She had long been used to the flirtatious nature of the knight, and even appreciated the lack of informality he afforded her, so used to being provided the very best of courtesies. They were friends; after Merlin and Gwen one could say he was her best friend. She remembered the very first time she had seen him, travelling in the markets in the Lower Town.

 _It was the perfect sort of day to be out of the castle, away from the stifling formality of court life. She had persuaded Gwen to let her accompany her to her home, just wanting to get away from it all. With her help, Mairwen had dressed in the plainest gown she could find in her wardrobe, doing her hair up as a simple maidservant would do, and decided she was suitable to go travelling relatively undetected._

 _She had taken Gwen's basket from her, insisting she had to carry it in order to be entirely unnoticeable amidst the bustling of the commonfolk. It was rather heavy; Gwen had laughed at her twisted expression as she realised she would have to cart this down several flights of stairs and slopes of land before reaching the house. They were almost there when someone had bumped into her from behind, sending the basket out of her hands. Scowling, she gathered the fabrics up and deposited them back in before turning to give this stranger a piece of her mind._

" _I think this belongs to you," he said cheerfully, not at all apologetic, brandishing a little sprig of lavender in his fingers._

 _Her mouth twisted up into a smile despite herself. "Sorry," she deflected. "I don't really think it's my colour."_

" _Let's see, then," he purred, and, to her astonishment, he completely invaded her personal space to tuck the flower in behind her ear, smoothing some of the disturbed golden hair down over the stem. "There. Beautiful. Pretty as a princess."_

 _She couldn't help snorting at that – he really had no idea, did he?_

 _She picked up the basket and made to turn away, telling the stranger: "Thank you for the flower, but you're not my type."_

" _But I could be," he cut in front of her. She could hear Gwen giggling behind her. "What is your name? You must have a grand name, one befitting a lovely princess such as you! Esmeralda? Sophia? Amarantha?"_

" _Stop it, people are staring," she hissed at him. It was as though this man had no shame, for he simply offered her a grin and bowed low before her._

" _Tell me your name," he insisted._

" _It's Mairwen, actually," she said cheerfully, waiting for it to register. It took a few seconds for the grin to drop slightly as he mulled it over._

" _You have the name of the princess in this kingdom," he said. He didn't appear discouraged – rather, his determination renewed. "See, I knew you would have a name to befit royalty."_

 _How thick was he? She had had enough of this banter._

" _That's because I am," she said sweetly, relishing the look of confusion on his face. She stuck out her hand and waited for him to take it. "Mairwen, princess of Camelot, sister to the Crown Prince Arthur, pleased to meet you," she continued, shaking his hand vigorously._

 _He sprang back as though he had been burned._

" _I am – terribly sorry my Lady – Your Highness – princess," he stuttered in a panic._

 _She laughed loudly in response._

" _Its fine," she said between chuckles. "It was highly amusing for me – you just made my day. What is your name, sir?"_

" _Gwaine," he replied, running his hand through his hair. He really did look anxious that she might inform the guards that he had made advances to the darling of the city. "Gwaine, at your service, milady – Your Highness."_

" _Just Mairwen," she declared. "I think we're well enough acquainted now that you really do deserve the privilege of calling me by my name. Thank you for that, Gwaine, and sorry for bursting your bubble. On any other lady that would've worked." She pulled the lavender from her hair and handed it back to him. "Perhaps another, more suitable woman would better appreciate being on the receiving end of your attentions."_

 _With that she sidestepped him and walked away. She and Gwen were still laughing that very night over what had happened._

"Aha, very funny," he said, pulling her away from the privacy of her location and out into the room. She resisted somewhat as she realised where he was leading her. "Come and meet our new knight!" And with that he gently pushed her in amongst the gaggle of knights surrounding the Druid man.

"Hello, boys," she said nervously. She hated being thrown in amongst the best and bravest in the land – they dwarfed her entirely, making her feel as though she had stumbled into a land of giants.

"Princess," acknowledged Leon, nodding his head in subservience.

"Leon," she smiled. "Did you do something different with your hair this evening?"

Elyan snorted behind her; at Leon's sharp glare it hastily changed to a cough.

"Your Highness – may I present to you Sir Mordred," Leon deflected, placing his hand on the new knight's shoulder and pressing him forward.

She watched him calculatingly as he took her customarily proffered hand and pressed it to his lips – she noticed the skin tingled upon the area of contact, and a tremor rolled up her spine. His eyes lifted to hers; he smiled as though he were all too aware of the sensations his touch elicited.

"Princess," he murmured. He held her hand in his a beat too long – she quickly pulled it back to rest at her side.

"Sir Mordred," she intoned casually. "What brings you to Camelot after all these years?"

"You know him?" asked Percival.

"Yes," she continued, holding eye contact with the man before her. She refused to back down, to allow him this small victory, as childish as it was. "He was just a boy when I first met him."

"I remember," he spoke gently. The corner of his mouth lifted up wryly. "I remember you nursing me when I was sick. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I ever saw."

"What a charmer you are, sir," she demurred, doing her best to ignore the laughter of the knights. "I do believe you're trying to gain my favour."

"If I were ever to gain your favour I feel only then could I die a most happy man," he said earnestly. It made her uneasy how sincere he sounded – if she didn't know what his role was in the future to come she believed she could have honestly fallen for him in that moment. As it was, there was a slight chill in his eyes, a dark promise she beheld there, that held her back.

"Then I fear must withhold my esteem – for what use to Camelot are you if you should perish?" It was a double-entendre, one not picked up by any listeners but the one to which it was meant for. A playful tease, if one chose to interpret it as such – a flirtatious command, whereby her partiality would mean the difference between life and death. Or a harsh dismissal – that she did not care whether he lived or died happy, that she'd even take satisfaction in being the cause for his _un_ happiness. She looked upon him, pleased as his stare narrowed, a sure sign he had understood.

"Farewell, Sir Mordred, it was a _pleasure_ meeting you again," she said, and, after curtseying and patting the two knights either side of her (Gwaine and Elyan) upon their arms, she flitted off to join the ladies across the room. It was very dull talk, of needlework and spinning, marriage proposals and children. It seemed as if these ladies simply had nothing to concern themselves with outside the home; she admired Gwen's fortitude, watching her smile politely and offer her own insight without faltering. She could not even imagine being patient enough to endure this kind of talk after living a life so full of activity as Gwen's had been – and still was, now that she was Queen.

It was well after midnight when the party began to subside; she stayed until late, ensuring the people saw her full support thrown behind this new soldier, before exiting the still busy hall and making her way down the dimly lit hall. Few occupied the corridors on her way to her chambers, save few servants forced to be on duty, transporting food and drink to the main event. Stopping for a moment, she took the chance to pull the pins out of her hair, sighing in relief as the prickling pain on her scalp subsided and her curls fell down past her shoulders. She shook out the braids and coils, running her hand through the locks to dislodge the straggling clips, sliding the discarded things onto the front of her dress.

She was only one long corridor away from her chambers when a hand shot out of a darkened alcove and pulled her in with it. A hand came over her mouth as she was backed up against the wall – her cry of pain as she collided with the harsh stone was muffled, and she knew no one would hear her this far away from the hall. Mairwen looked up in a panic; in the cool light of the moon streaming through the windows opposite she could make out pale, chiselled features, dark hair and blue eyes.

"Don't scream," he cautioned lowly, then took his hand slowly off her mouth. She made to dart back out – he knew her mind, and pulled her back by her waist. She almost gasped aloud at his impudence, touching royalty in such a disrespectful manner, as he caged her in with arms braced against the wall and head bent low to look at her.

"You're a bit far from the party, being the guest of honour. What do you want, Mordred?" she hissed, eyes flashing across the corridor, down into the darkness, hoping to no avail that someone would come by and discover them. On second thoughts – if Arthur discovered this he'd assume she was fraternizing with the man, and marry her to him to keep her an honest woman.

"I want to know what I did, to make you dislike me so," he spat out. His eyes were burning, insistent, thinly veiled irritation and somewhat of a desperate tinge to them.

"Why do you assume that I dislike you?" she protested, feigning incredulity. He merely scoffed – she'd figured it was worth a shot, but there was no fooling him, it seemed.

"The way you looked at me, the way you spoke to me during the feast. I am no fool," he replied. "I am not a bad person, I've even saved your brother. What have I done, Mairwen?"

She forgot all sense of propriety in her anger. Mairwen leaned in closer, fuelled by her annoyance at him. "It is not what you have done, but what you will do. I will not let you bring about – never mind." She could barely believe she had almost let slip the details of his betrayal – she would not do so again.

"Tell me. Tell me what it is you seem to think I shall do, that makes you so cold towards me," his tone softened; he leaned back slightly, as though he wished to look upon her better. "It was not always so. There was a time when you treated me with kindness, and when you smiled at me it was as though I was looking into the brightness of a thousand suns. I've never forgotten it. It stayed with me all these years."

He paused; his gaze flickered from her eyes down to her lips. She froze in confusion as he leaned forward slightly, his hand moving to cup the side of her face. She turned away from him; his nose grazed her cheek.

"You're even more beautiful than you were back then. I have long desired you, Princess. I dreamed of you, of making you mine, of taking all that you are and making it my own," he chuckled darkly as his hand moved over her throat, brushed against her collarbone. "You feel it too – the desire – don't you? You see, you may lie to yourself all you please, but I know you want me, I know you feel it within you too. I will wait for as long as I have to, but I _will_ have you, darling. You cannot resist me forever."

She pushed him back; having held herself pliant for so long, he stumbled back, caught off-guard.

"You forget to whom you speak, Sir! I am no cheap tumble in the hay. I am next in line to the throne of Camelot, and I'll be damned if you treat me as though I were a common whore! I don't want you! I don't need you, nor will I ever, I can swear to that! Do _not_ ," she flashed, backing him to the other side of the niche, "try to disrespect me again, or I _will_ make you regret the day you were born."

Before he had a chance to react, she had stepped out of the alcove and hurried down the hall to her chambers, pushing open the doors with a bang and startling the drowsing maid within.

"Mistress! Whatever is the matter?" cried the red-haired girl, jumping out of the chair by the moonlit window across the room.

"Nothing," she said, locking the doors behind her. She flushed, embarrassed and ashamed at how she almost succumbed to him back there, and resolved to never be anywhere where he could possibly catch her alone. "I'm sorry for waking you, Lilah."

"It is fine, Your Highness. I was awaiting your return anyway," she replied cheerfully, dragging her over to stand before the bed so she could work upon the laces that bound the party dress to her form. "How was your evening?"

"Unexpected," she said shortly. Lilah seemed to figure out something had happened, and she didn't feel forthcoming yet. With a final jerk of the string Lilah pushed the sleeves down her arms, and the dress tumbled from her waist onto the floor; she stepped out of it, and her hands ventured to begin at working off her corset as Lilah bustled about hanging the dress out to air on the balcony. Lilah grasped the laces from her and pulled off the stiff fabric, enabling her to take deep breaths she hadn't realised she needed.

She drew behind the screen to change out of her underclothes, swapping it for the nightgown that had been draped over the wooden frame. When she exited her changing area, her bedspread had been pulled down and a candle placed by her vanity table. She sat down on the low stool and felt the tension in her bones relax as Lilah stroked the brush through her hair, soothing her uneasy thoughts with the touch that reminded her of how Morgana used to stroke her hair when she awoke fearful from nightmares. _Morgana_. She turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the aspect of her eyes her skin, the arch of the brow that reminded her of the sister she had lost to darkness.

That night, she lay in bed, wide awake despite being tired when she had left the festivities. She had bid Lilah take the key to her chambers with her, locking the door behind the maid. She knew all too well if he really wanted to get in, he would, but it'd make it a damn sight harder, seeing as she had also barricaded the door with a chair.

When she finally began to fall asleep, she imagined she heard his voice in her mind. _Mairwen. Mairwen._

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 **Please feel free to let me know how I'm doing! :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone, sorry for the long wait! I've replaced this chapter and decided to do a shorter story for this fic. Now, I've made this Mordred a lot darker than the previous chapter 2, much more in keeping with his introduction in this story. There's a little bit of dubious consent in this chapter, and next chapter might be interpreted as non-con, but I promise it'll end up relatively happy in the end. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in the Merlin TV series. I only own Mairwen, and I'm using her to play around with some of the established characters.**

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The weeks following proved to her Mordred's apparent desire was not fictitious, nor was it the cause of drunkenness or poisoning as she had vainly hoped. Somehow, the cur had managed to get himself placed on special guard duty during the days he was not saving the realm with Arthur and his band of merry knights plus Merlin. He was paid by the Crown to follow her around, to _protect_ her. She did her best to ignore him, to ignore the feel of his eyes boring into the back of her head, the sensation of his hand upon her lower back in crowded halls, the faint brush of his mind against hers. _Mairwen. Mairwen._ She'd bite her lip in concentration, trying to will away the strange heat in her belly, the flush that rose upon her flesh whenever he was nearby. He noticed it; indeed, he did, for how else could she explain the smirks and intense gazes and what seemed to be deliberately calculated touches? And the worst thing of all, there was no way for her to accuse his behaviour as being inappropriate, no basis for her to level any accusations against him (for by this point, her brother thought the sun shone out of Mordred's every orifice). She was thankful for the feasting occasions, when he would go off on one side of the room and she on the other. He would stay firmly with the knights, and at least she got respite from his close proximity, though she knew he would constantly stare over at her, making sure she was still present. Mairwen would do her best to stay by her brother, so that she might talk with Merlin.

He was worried about her. "You're pale," he murmured, smiling. Always they had to smile when conversing; it was best to let everyone think their conversations were of no substance. "He's been bothering you, hasn't he?"

"No," she replied somewhat frustrated. "Yes – but no, not really. I don't know how to explain it. He hasn't done anything… but I can't shake the feeling he will."

He knew all about the events of the weeks previous – it puzzled him, but not as much as it did her. _I always had a feeling he liked you, or was obsessed with you or something_ , he had said, nodding his head thoughtfully. _It makes sense then that you were the reason he chose to come back to Camelot. But he doesn't have a chance with me_ , she had replied. _Never say never_ , Merlin said. _I wouldn't put it past him._

"Just… stay on guard, okay? Don't do anything stupid," he said just as Arthur commanded his attentions again. She shrugged off the wall and went to sit alongside her brother, nervously sipping at her goblet of wine to calm her constant shaking nerves.

It seemed as though Merlin jinxed things; as soon as he told her to remain sensible and suspicious she went and got herself drunk. The servants, eager to serve, plied her with glass after glass of the rich scarlet liquid, and soon her head was swimming and she was smiling so widely that it hurt, and her belly ached from laughing. Her head was swimming, and she didn't notice as Arthur discreetly waved Mordred over to the head of the table, didn't her the quiet _take her to her rooms and keep an eye on her_ issued forth from the king.

As the man reached for her, she vaguely remembered his threat from the weeks previous, and made half-hearted, drunken attempts to push him away. "Don' make me go, Arthur," she slurred weakly in his general direction. "I'm jus' having fun!"

"Yes, and you'll have even more _fun_ sleeping it off," he replied sternly. She moaned weakly as Mordred renewed his grip under her arms and pulled her up off the seat, supporting her down the steps and through the hall.

The night was cold, and so was the castle away from the steaming banquet hall. The chill clung to her skin, making her sober up enough to stand upright by herself and keep her eyes open. She held herself as stiffly as any intoxicated royal might, and walked alongside Mordred to her chambers that were nearly on the other side of the palace, stumbling occasionally.

"You've been very silly tonight, Mairwen, drinking as you did," he spoke from beside her. She turned to face him; dark hair, blue eyes, glowing skin as always, and it caused a visceral reaction within her. She shuddered lightly.

"Why do you care? You're not the boss of me," she retorted childishly. "It isn' your business what I do with my life."

"It _is_ my business – I am charged with your protection."

"And will you protect me from yourself?" Mairwen replied even before she had had a chance to consider her words. It was an unspoken agreement of theirs not to bring up the last time they had been alone together in a darkened hallway. He didn't reply after that – she knew not what to think about it.

When she entered her room, she called out for Lilah. There was no response – Lilah had likely gone home for the night. She sighed and resigned herself to disrobing herself, reaching behind her to begin working at the laces of her dress, huffing in frustration as she tugged to no avail.

"Let me," whispered a deep voice at her ear. She started; she hadn't realised he was still in the room with her. She didn't know what possessed her to allow him, but she nodded her head in acquiescence, moving her hands aside and drawing her hair forth to reveal the laces. He worked deftly, the dress loosening bit by bit before his arm appeared in her periphery, the lace in hand. She held the dress to her body, grasping the string and ventured behind the screen to change into her nightgown. Mairwen balked at it; in the wrong lighting the fabric would be near see-through. Still, she was naked, and there was no other shift in sight. It'd have to do.

When she emerged from the screen, she focused determinedly on setting herself up for bed, pretending as though Mordred wasn't in the room. She hoped he'd get the picture and leave her be. It was bad enough he was in the room with her unchaperoned; if this ever got out, Arthur would do something drastic.

She stood before her reflection in the vanity, brushing out the twists Lilah had put in her hair for the occasion. The stiff coils unwound into gentle waves, shimmering lightly in the firelight from the hearth. The direct light would render transparency upon her form, she knew – she winced. Mordred's form moved into the mirror behind her, and she instantly knew it was a mistake to wear this before him. He was gazing at her form, likely bared to him, and she could see the narrowing of his gaze and the heat of his eyes. Placing the comb down, she moved to pull off the bracelets adorning her arms, the string of pearls around her neck, the drop earrings from her ears, ignoring his presence. She shifted and felt the light clink of metal against her foot; she had almost forgotten she'd worn an ankle-bracelet for the occasion. She bent down to remove it, and her head swam lightly; she abruptly returned to her upright position. It seemed the alcohol had not released its hold upon her yet, and she had felt the effects keenly.

Mordred came forward, looming over her small frame, staring intensely. She pressed herself back into the vanity, trying to place some distance between them. For a moment she was unsure of what he was going to do to her, with her – a pause, a flicker of his eyes to her lips, and she couldn't help but freeze before him – and then he slid down her body, taking her foot in his hand and unfastened the bracelet. She could feel his hot breath ghost against her leg through the sheer material, the warmth of his calloused hands upon her feet. It was silent as he drew up to his full height, leaning forward to deposit the trinket upon the table. Only an inch between them; if he wanted he could reach down and –

"No, _please_ don't – "

Mordred pressed her hard against the vanity and took her mouth with his own, wild and painful, trapping her with his body. She scrabbled for purchase, she was slipping – she vainly pressed against his chest, anything to get him _away_ , when he abruptly changed tactics. A little tilt of the head, a gentle nudge, a soft glide of his tongue across her closed lips, and her mouth parted in surprise. He took full advantage, intertwining himself with her, and a soft noise emitted from deep in her throat. Her arms slid from their perch on his chest and wound upwards, wrapping around his neck and forcing him lower, pressing them closer together.

She couldn't resist him – the drugging kisses, the low moans, his near-feral domination of her. Added to that fact, she was drunk, and likely to regret it in the morning. It didn't stop her from allowing him to lift her atop the bench and step into the juncture of her thighs, pulling her knees high on his waist so she could _feel_ his lust, hard and throbbing, right in the very core of her. She cried out softly as he mouthed over her jawline, down her throat, to bite down softly at the junction between neck and shoulder, rolling his hips against hers slowly. _Mairwen_ , came the breathy whisper in her mind.

It stopped her cold – she was currently compromising herself with Mordred. _Mordred_ , the man who was to kill her brother, who was to destroy everything she stood for. She panicked – Mordred hissed and pulled his mouth from hers, red coating his bottom lip. She must've bitten him, then. He took one look at her, her wide-eyed, panicked expression, and set her down before him, an unspoken agreement between them to cease their activities. He did not let go of her, instead swinging her frame up into his arms and gently depositing her under the covers of her large feather bed, tucking the covers over her. She only relaxed when he stepped away from her, a clear indication he had no intention of forcing things further. His kindness at that moment struck her – perhaps he wasn't as bad as she had thought.

He sat down on the bed next to her. "Sleep now, sweet girl. I'll watch over you." Her existing drowsiness from the wine she had consumed that night, coupled with Mordred's hand moving in slow strokes over her hair, served to put her almost instantly asleep.

A sensation of _warm_ and a loud banging noise brought her out of sleep the next morning. Arthur had stormed in half-dressed, furious, followed by a hurried-looking Gwen and a grim Merlin. Something shifted next to her; she looked down to see Mordred next to her, just rousing from sleep – _what_? Why was he in her bed, and – well, it looked to her as though he was naked, or thereabouts. Suddenly she realised how this must look to her audience. Mairwen looked up at her brother, panicked, shifting hurriedly away from the man in her bed.

"How could you be so _stupid_ , Mairwen?" Arthur asked, his voice dangerously quiet. She quailed beneath his stare.

"Arthur – I didn't –"

"No, you didn't, did you? You didn't think that you'd be caught in bed with Sir Mordred! You didn't think about what this might do to the kingdom if it got out!"

"We didn't – I _swear_ we didn't –"

"Nothing happened, my Lord," came Mordred's voice from her side. It was pitched differently – more innocent, more childlike. She watched in disbelief as Arthur paused in his tirade and looked at them, actually considering his words. He was playing him! "I promise – she was intoxicated and didn't want me to leave, so I stayed, sire. That is all."

"Don't lie to me. I can see it all over both of you that _something_ happened! I'm not blind, you know. I trusted you," Arthur's tone turned bitter. "Against Merlin, against Mairwen's judgement I trusted you. Never did I expect you to end up in bed with my sister!"

"I swear it, Arthur – nothing like _that_ happened – I was drunk and there may have been some kissing but I _swear_ I didn't –"

"Just – don't, Mairwen. Get dressed in something nice this evening – I want to make sure no one will ever question your honour."

Silence – then Mairwen realised what he meant. She leapt up out of bed, throwing her dressing gown around her shoulders, and stormed up to him.

"You can't make me _marry_ him! I don't even like him! I was drunk, but I remember everything that happened last night, and I'm not – I haven't been – _defiled_ , or anything like that. I _never_ lie to you. Surely you believe me," she said, looking pleadingly at Arthur, at Gwen's kind face, at Merlin looking gravely at the scene.

Arthur sighed. "Of course I believe you." Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued. "But the maid who came in this morning and discovered you two together wouldn't believe it. Neither would the people of this kingdom when this gets out, because it _will_ get out. I'll not have my heir's honour doubted by anyone – the Pendragons must always have honour."

"What, like Father?" She knew instantly she had gone too far – their father's rule had long been a source of discord between them, and she had never loved the late King the way Arthur had.

"I'm going to ignore that comment, because you must be very angry right now. But I'll not hear you talk about Father that way again. Understand me?" he asked, an edge to his tone. She nodded hastily, already regretting her rash commentary. He continued in a marginally calmer tone. "Mordred, put your shirt on – you'll be spending the day in clear public view, far away from the Princess. Mairwen, Gwen will help you get ready for this evening. My hands are tied; I'm sorry, but I have no choice because I want what is best for you."

And with that, Arthur forced Mordred out of the room, followed by a sympathetic Gwen. Merlin shut the door behind them as Mairwen flopped down onto the bed and let the tears flow. He sat down beside her and rubbed her back soothingly.

"It might be alright, you know," Merlin said half-heartedly. "He obviously desires you, so you've got that in your favour. And I hear the Druids are pretty free with their – err, _favours_ – so the wedding night won't be so bad for you."

She looked up at him, horror-stricken. "He won't make me – they won't – do I have to do… _that_? I didn't even think about that."

"Clearly, seeing as you woke up in bed with him this morning," Merlin japed. He froze, and turned to look at her warily. The expression upon his face turned her tears to laughter; they both giggled until their bellies ached. In the wake of their outburst, her sorrow renewed. She sniffled as Merlin placed an arm about her shoulder and hugged her to him comfortingly.

"What am I going to do, Merlin?" She asked despairingly.

"What you must, Mairwen. You'll do what you have to do, and you'll do it with a smile on your face because you are brave and beautiful and strong."

After Merlin had left, Mairwen spent the day in her chambers, taking turns staring forlornly out the window and catching up on some reading she had intended to do, for she was still taking her lessons from the librarian. All the while, she had considered the events of the previous night and this morning.

She could not deny that Mordred was attractive, nor that she was unresponsive to his advances; if he pressed his rights that evening she'd likely make do in that regard. But his behaviour the night before – his insistence that nothing had happened between them – none of it added up, not with his claims of desiring her.

It came to her later, before dinnertime. He had planned it all; perhaps the intoxication was an incredibly lucky coincidence for him, but nonetheless he had planned to seduce her and make it seem as though she had allowed him to take her virtue. She was foolish to ever believe there was something good in him! He had promised to have her, and by the next day it seems he would fulfil that promise. She raged, she fumed, she screamed into her pillow. But by the time she ventured out to have dinner with her family, she was calm, and resigned to her fate as wife to Mordred, Knight of Camelot.

The evening was quiet; not one word was spoken during the meal. When it was over, Arthur stood. "I'll come to your chambers in an hour, Mairwen. Gwen will help you dress for tonight. I want you to make sure that everything is in order after the – _ceremony_ ," he bit out, scratching his head resignedly. His stance softened; he moved to sit on the table beside her plate, barely touched, and laid his hand upon her shoulder, bending down to kiss her forehead gently. "I will always love you, little sister. I may be a little disappointed in you right now, but I'll always love you, and I'll always support you. I promise." Arthur pushed himself off the table and swiftly exited the hall.

Gwen took her by the arm as they too left the room, smiling softly down at her. "Not to worry, Mair," she said as she squeezed her arm lightly. "Everything will turn out just fine."

"But how? I made a stupid, stupid mistake and now I have to marry him." She knew she was being petulant, a spoiled child even, but she felt entitled to have her whine without Arthur present.

"I'm not really sure why you don't like him," Gwen commented as she pushed Mairwen's chamber door open before her. Mairwen moved to the vanity and brushed out her hair, determined that at least she wouldn't look the image of a farce wedding. Gwen continued, her voice muffled through the wood of the closet she was searching through for an appropriate dress. "He's very handsome, he's not a stranger to you, and the rumour among the servants is that he's no terrible lover."

"What? How shocking of you to say!" Mairwen replied in jest to her scandalous comment, though deep inside, she couldn't help but feel a little indignant. He had said he wanted her, but went around dallying with others? A little false, she thought.

Gwen pulled out a dress from the back of the closet, smoothing the rumpled skirt. "How about this? I don't ever remember seeing you wearing it. Is it new?"

Mairwen turned to view the dress her sister-in-law had chosen. Her eyes welled up as she gazed upon the gown of sky blue silk and lace.

"It isn't mine. It was my mother's wedding dress. Father let me have it after she died. I was only four," she murmured, reaching out to stroke the sheer overskirt reverently. "I don't know if it'll fit, I've never worn it before."

"Are you sure you want to?" Gwen asked worriedly.

"Yes. Yes," she replied determinedly. "It was always to be my wedding dress, even if my groom isn't who I'd imagined at that age. I'll only be married once, likely."

Gwen helped her into the silk gown; it was a near perfect fit, save for the bust. Her breasts were squeezed rather tightly into the corset, and she prayed she might take it off as soon as possible. She helped Gwen do her hair, not too elaborate, but rather some simple twisting done and the circlet matching the dress weaved in. When it was done, she looked upon herself in the vanity mirror, Gwen just behind her.

"You look beautiful, dear one," Gwen breathed out. "Mordred isn't going to know what hit him when he sees you like this. Not that you want him to see you like this! I mean, not that you want him to feel starstruck when he sees how lovely you look because you don't like him very much –"

"Gwen," Mairwen laughed lightly. "I know what you mean. And besides, I hope I do please him in this dress, because he's been in love with me since the day he returned." A lie, but only a little one that really wasn't too far from the truth.

"I knew it," she said quietly, a sort of vindicated tone in her voice. "I told Arthur Mordred was in love with you, but he said I was foolish to believe it. Of course I knew, though – it really isn't hard to see, with the way he looks at you."

"Thank you, Gwen," Mairwen uttered, grasping the older woman's hands in her own. She was so thankful to have family like her, unwaveringly supportive and steadfastly comforting. "Wish me luck?"

"Good luck," she whispered with a smile, pressing her into an embrace just as Arthur knocked on the door.

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 **Thanks for reading! Please don't hesitate to review, I'd like to know how I'm going!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we are, the wedding!**

 **If you've been reading since the beginning I should probably refer you back to chapter 2; I've changed things around, and the plot of this story is now entirely different. Sorry if you liked the humour in the old one, I'll probably find some way to liven up this dark drama hopefully.**

 **Warning: hard M rating for this one, and Mordred sports some serious Mairwen fetish. Dub-con; some questionable scenes that could be interpreted as non-con. So, a warning for those who don't like that kind of stuff.**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Merlin TV series, I'm just having fun with the characters.**

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It was cold that night, and to her surprise the hallways were deserted – usually one could find patrols moving fairly regularly through the passages. _I gave them a new trial route tonight_ , Arthur had said. _I told the guards I was thinking of a varied timetable in case spies attempted to determine regular patrols. Pretty good excuse, I think._ Ever the proud one, her brother. They made their way through to the throne room, the surrounding halls deserted also. Gwen pressed her lips fondly to her temple as she passed the siblings into the room, her slippers clacking along the floors and echoing as the door swung shut. She knew the priest, Merlin and her husband-to-be were in the room along with her.

Arthur turned to her. "You look…" He was lost for words – she smiled up at him softly.

"Thank you," she replied. There was a tense silence.

"You know –" he began haltingly; he tried again. "You understand what I meant before, about making sure everything's… in order?"

Her mouth twisted up wryly. "Not to worry, brother. I will perform my wifely duties tonight, and there will be no man or woman in this kingdom or the next who can possibly say I am not wedded to Sir Mordred in truth. Would you like the sheet tomorrow, or –"

"Gah! No, no, no! Just make sure no one but your own maid sees it, alright? And keep it hidden somewhere – just… just in case it might be needed. Good, we've established that, now can we _please_ change the subject?" Her brother looked desperately at her.

"Alright. How are we to play this off?" she asked.

"You and Mordred have been secretly married for months. When the maid discovered you it was because Mordred had forgotten to sneak back to his own quarters, so that you two might hide it from me in order to prevent me demanding your separation. Is that appropriate?"

"It's better than anything I could come up with," she shrugged. She supposed she could pretend her hatred of him the past few months was a front to avoid her brother suspecting they were secretly together.

"That's settled," he said. He smoothed a lock of hair that had twisted out of place in their hurry to arrive, and held out his arm for her. Smiling gently, she enfolded her own in his, and they entered the room.

It was silent and dark, save for two large torches that had been lit up above the dais. She could only make out the four as silhouettes until she was halfway across the room, when the flickering light gave form to each individual's face. Gwen and Merlin were smiling at her sadly; Merlin gave her a thumbs up as she passed him. Mordred's eyes darkened as he regarded her made-up figure.

"Who gives this woman to this man in the sight of God?" the Priest intoned.

Arthur performed his duty every inch a King. "I, Arthur Pendragon, give this woman to this man with my full consent in the sight of God." He removed her arm from his; and, laying her hand upon Mordred's, he stepped back beside his wife.

She didn't listen too much to the droning of the man of God before her; it was all the same words, repeated over and over in different ways. She stared ahead when she was supposed to, looked at the priest when she was supposed to, turned to face Mordred when she was supposed to. She guessed she must have performed her duties correctly, for the priest soon announced the words – _I pronounce thee to be man and wife. Thou must pledge thy troth._ Mordred leaned in and caressed her lips gently with his own, pulling back at the appropriate interval. It was so easy to pretend this entire wedding was an appropriate one, she thought bitterly.

They did not spend much longer in the throne room following that. Arthur pulled the priest aside, presumably to pay him off handsomely for his discretion; she and Mordred both signed the marriage contract that had been dated some weeks prior, in keeping with their tale; the bride and groom shared a cup of wine as was customary, before Arthur bid them leave with a pained look upon his face. As soon as they exited the room she pulled away from her new husband, choosing to walk briskly by herself despite the chill of the night. She was thankful he was at least waiting to taunt her, that she might have a few minutes to compose herself and prepare.

When she re-entered her chambers the room had changed slightly. The fire was blazing in the hearth, with wine and a pair of silver goblets placed upon the dining table, the bed strewn with rose petals. Her eyes burned as she took in the sight before her, as though this was a romantic evening set out for her. Without looking at Mordred, she ventured straight to the table and poured herself two considerable-sized cups of wine, downing them quickly in succession.

"Careful, my love," came his dark voice behind her; she turned to see her husband stroll over to her. Warm hands settled upon her waist, pulling her lightly to him. "Wouldn't want to get inebriated again, would we?"

She shoved him aside in a huff, disregarding his laughter as she pulled out her hairstyle and moved to the opposite side of the room, placing her jewellery back in their cases. Once more, she poured a cup of wine for herself – less this time – and swallowed it rapidly. She toed off her uncomfortable shoes and placed them in the closet for another day, ambling toward the warmth of the fire.

Mairwen stood there in silence for a few precious moments before she felt sensation at her back. Her hair was shifted over her shoulder, and the laces of her dress were tugged at firmly. It appeared she had no say in the matter, no choice; this coupling would not be on her own terms, and he was likely to disregard any pain she'd feel. She was his property now, to do with as he would, and tears welled in her eyes as his efforts to remove her clothes came closer and closer to fruition. Leaving the laces in, he pushed the sleeves down her arms, the dress pooling at her waist and sliding down to the floor. He nudged her feet out of the dress and tossed it cleanly over the screen. She cried soundlessly as he jerked harshly at the tight laces of the corset, his aggression frightening her, pulling the cord out with a loud swiping noise before allowing it to fall to the ground, reaching around her to pull the rigid material from her body.

She heard the sounds of disrobing, the clattering of chainmail and metal plates as well as the snick of material being shed, before being turned around to face him. His gaze was full of an uncontrollable desire, thrown into sharp focus by the flickering of the fire; it softened considerably as he took in the fearful tears slowly trekking paths down his young bride's face.

"No need to cry, sweetheart," he whispered, thumbing the droplets away softly. "I promise to make this enjoyable for you."

He took her trembling body in his arms, drawing her tightly to him as he pulled her into a tender kiss, soft and light and full of warmth. He smelled as he always had, of leather and forest and honey soap, and she soon found herself relaxed by the sensations of his lips upon hers and his hands drawing soothing patterns in the small of her back. She responded slowly to him, pressing herself to him, becoming the giver as well as the receiver, and her arms, laying previously limp, crept up to rest on his shoulders.

He pulled away when she had fully melted into his embrace, her mind somewhat fuzzy and her knees weak. A single glance asked permission – she gave it – Mordred smoothly bundled the length of her shift in his hands and lifted the material over her head, tossing it behind him. She quavered beneath his gaze, moving to cover herself.

His hand wrapped around her arm, pulling it back to rest at her side. "No," he said. "You're beautiful."

He stepped close once more, idly tracing the tip of his finger from her shoulder down the length of her exposed form, eliciting a breathy sigh from her. He placed his hands upon her cheeks and kissed her, this time with more strength and passion than before, and pulled her by her hands to the bed. He must've pulled the sheets down while she was busy getting ready; most of the petals had been strewn on the floor around the bed, and the layer of ivory below her scarlet overthrow had been revealed. She allowed him to tug her onto the bed with him, following his path.

"Lay down," he murmured softly; when she froze slightly he continued, his hands stroking down her sides. "I want to make you feel good, darling. Will you let me?" She hesitated slightly.

"Okay," she breathed out. Mairwen stared up at the canopy as she shifted to lay upon her back, fully exposing her naked self to Mordred's eyes. He entered her vision, looming over her, leaning down to mouth at her lips, her neck, her shoulder before moving down further. She jerked as his lips made contact with her breasts, suckling upon her nipples, eliciting a shocked gasp and a sensation that made her head tip back involuntarily. Her hands pressed him there, winding into his ebony hair, making him chuckle.

He moved lower, licking, sucking and kissing down over the plane of her stomach, over the tops of her thighs, down to her toes. She giggled as he pressed his lips against her little toe, throwing an arm over her eyes. Mordred slid up; she was suddenly wary and watched as his mouth pressed along the insides of her legs, moving up to the tops of her thighs one by one. He offered her a devilish smirk before placing his mouth on her core.

Her reaction was instant; her hips shot off the mattress and she cried out as he worked his way inside, the odd tickling sensation giving way to a pleasure she had never before known. His arm anchored her to the bed as he coaxed her want from her, focusing on the little pearl he knew would bring her to ecstasy.

"Your cunt tastes divine," he groaned into her.

" _Mordred_ –" she choked out as her centre was battered by his assault, her senses a slave to the feelings he was bringing forth. Her hips rutted urgently beneath his grip, her body rising, rising, _rising_ – Her knees clenched around Mordred's head as she reached her peak, her spine arching up and several juddered whines escaping her opened mouth. He continued to fondle her through her high, giving her a pressure to work herself against.

He lay next to her, propped up on his forearm, as he watched her come down. She sighed softly – one, two beats –

"Did you like that, Mairwen?" he asked softly, stroking over her breasts. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that? How many ways I imagined this playing out? A very long time. And now I have you to myself." It was hard to care about the possessive tone in his voice when she felt so good – and his words made her feel _so_ good.

"It felt very nice," she murmured, humming contentedly as he petted her. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Oh no, lovely girl," he said, sliding his hand down her thigh to tease her oversensitive core. "We're not done yet. That was the prelude to the main event."

Her eyes shot open as he once more loomed above her; instinctively she clamped her legs shut and tensed. "Open for me now," he admonished. "I mean to make you my wife completely."

"I – I can't –" she stuttered miserably. He pressed his lips to hers gently before moving again to her side, lying upright against the headboard.

"Come here, Mairwen," Mordred spoke. "Come sit over me."

She hesitantly followed his orders, swinging her leg over his hip and settling uncertainly on his thighs. He uttered a small moan as she came into contact with him. "Up a bit," he murmured, grabbing onto her hips and guiding her to sit in line with his cock. She swallowed nervously as the blunt head nudged at her slickness, searching, searching –

 _Pain_. She scrabbled at his chest for purchase, for control to pull herself up, away, but he held her down firmly over him. "Please, it _hurts_ –" she gasped, tears of shock streaming from her eyes. He hushed her protestations, his thumbs moving in circles over her hipbones, urging her to relax, pressing his mouth to hers to silence her. She stared at the headboard next to Mordred's ear as the pain dulled, a strange sensation of foreign invasion taking its place. She felt so _full_ , and he was patient with her as she calmed. He was _in_ her, had worked his way so deep she thought she could feel it in her throat, and she needed something _more_. The dark-haired man had been staring at her, assessing her reaction to him, and it seemed as though he found what he wanted. He grasped her buttocks and lifted her off him – she hissed as he rubbed along her broken maidenhead – before tugging her back down harshly.

" _Ah_ ," she whimpered; she couldn't decide if it felt good or not, the rhythm he had worked her into, moving over him steadily. She grasped around his neck for leverage, her movements drawing her closer to him, changing the angle of him within her. Mairwen keened as his cock brushed something inside, something that made her knees give way and her eyes to roll back.

"There we go, sweeting," he encouraged, increasing their pace, loosening his hold on her as she moved instinctively on her own. "You look beautiful like this… chasing your own pleasure, willing and wanton. I – I've wanted this –" He broke off as she rolled her hips into his, the friction delicious.

She could not keep up with her own desire; her legs gave way and she collapsed against him. He tipped her to lay on her back as he took control, hauling her legs high around his waist before ramming back in.

"You're mine; you belong to me," he said harshly as he pumped into her. She mewled and bared her throat for his searching lips, crying out when he bit down. "Say my name, Mairwen. Tell me you're mine, tell me how much you enjoy me _fucking_ you."

"I – I'm yours, Mordred! Only yours," she gasped out. "W – want this, need you."

She pressed her hips against his, moving urgently, kissing him hungrily as she travelled again to rapture. Mairwen cried out loudly as she came, followed by a shout from the man above her as he spilled his seed within her. He collapsed atop her for a few moments, pressing his forehead to her neck and breathing harshly.

A gush of fluid slipped from her when he pulled out of her, and she knew it to be her maiden's blood staining the sheet below. Still, she was far too tired to care about cleaning herself up, or removing the now soiled item from the mattress. Mordred encouraged her drowsy, sweaty form to lay on him, drawing the covers over them.

"You're mine now," he said earnestly, looking down at her intensely. "And I shall never let you go."

She pressed herself to him, reaching up to place her lips over his and kiss him fervently, driven by his words. Beneath the possession, the ownership of his claim, lay the promise she knew he affirmed – his loyalty was to her now, his body to shield her and love her, his gifts to protect her. It gave her hope that he'd now never have a reason to defect to Morgana, to kill her brother, to destroy Camelot.

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 **I wanted to apologise if the editing seems a little erratic and the story cut off oddly; I originally wrote this as a one-shot, but it's at 12 000 words and counting now, so I wanted to make it a little more readable by chopping it up. If you read it all in one go it'll make more sense.**

 **Please, feel free to let me know how I'm doing!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning - some definite non-con in this chapter. I promise this is the worst it will get. They can only move up from here.**

 **This story will likely be short, simply because I've discovered I'm not at all good at sustaining an extensive plot without getting bored and giving up. It is likely large intervals of time will just pass in this story so I might get to some of the important bits, snapshots if you will. I won't say how long I intend it to be, because when I first decided this I had slated 5 chapters; you'll know after this one that it just won't be possible, so bear with me.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Merlin TV series. This is just for fun.  
**

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Lilah came in to wake her the next day, the very picture of discretion. Mordred was gone when she awoke; a part of her was thankful she didn't have to suffer through an awkward morning-after, though she wished he'd been there, for what reason she didn't know. There was a bond between them, and a marriage could not thrive on fear and dislike. Mairwen resolved to be as dutiful a wife as she possibly could, despite the fact she still greatly suspected his loyalties. There was good in him; he could have chosen to make the consummation as convenient for him as possible, and she was glad he took the time to ensure she had her own pleasure in their coupling.

She winced as she moved straight from the bed to the fresh bath Lilah had set up for her, sighing in relaxation as her overworked muscles were soothed by the heat of the water. She scrubbed at the crusted blood along the inside of her thighs, reaching in slightly to wash her core, wincing as she rubbed over the fresh wound.

"What a handsome husband you've landed, Princess," came Lilah's voice from beside her; she was hurriedly pulling off the bottom sheet from the mattress, and Mairwen blanched as she beheld the large red stain on the white fabric. The maidservant busied herself with folding the sheet neatly, storing the evidence of the marriage high within her closet. "He's a right fine knight, and a favourite of the common people to boot."

She shifted in the bathtub, reaching for the strawberry bath oil and pouring a liberal amount into the tub, filling the room with the exotic scent. "Oh. I didn't know that," she said before dunking her hair below the water.

"Yes," Lilah replied when she came back up, moving over to scrub her hair with a bar of strawberry-scented soap. "He spends time with some of the village children on his days off – he likes to buy them bread to take home for supper."

Mairwen considered this new fact with surprise. She hadn't known he had a soft spot for the village people; then, she didn't really know much at all about her new husband, beyond what Merlin had told her would happen and her own assumptions about him. Her face flushed as the guilt set in – perhaps he hadn't deserved quite so hasty a judgement from her.

While she sat in a sheer robe before the fire, waiting for the heat to dry her locks, Lilah busied herself choosing her dress for the day, a task not usually attributed to her. She trusted her to make an appropriate choice; this morning's breakfast was to be the announcement of their 'secret wedding', and Arthur would take the role of surprised but pleased monarch and brother to the happy couple. Therefore, she must look her best, and appear the happiest she's ever been. A satin gown in a bold scarlet was chosen, with handsome embroidery and glimmering jewels sewn on, the skirt flowing out just above her bust, the neckline high and the arms and shoulders bared. _Why such a high-waisted dress, Lilah?_ She had asked as the servant laced her into it. _You've been wedded for weeks now – it is prudent to let people assume certain things about your married life_ , was how she had replied.

Mordred came to collect her not long after Lilah had helped her add the finishing touches to her outfit. Tall shoes to give her height next to her husband; hair twisted half-up, half-down; no necklace, for the dress wouldn't suit; her mother's pearl bracelets and earrings adorned her, and her lips were given a light blush of rose along with her cheeks. He knocked upon the door of her chambers – their chambers now, she supposed – and Lilah moved to open the door as she patted scent behind her ears and upon her wrists.

He was in full regalia, every inch a Knight of Camelot; his crimson cape fluttered as he strode over to where she sat. "You look beautiful, sweet girl. Absolutely ravishing," he bent down and murmured against her ear before capturing her lips with his own tenderly. She lifted her hand to his cheek, an unvoiced assurance that she would make no scene about him leaving that morning, before allowing him to escort her from the room.

"You're taller than usual," he commented as they walked, smiling. It was an invitation to cease hostilities, a test. It was one she chose to take; they had formed a strange kind of alliance now, and it would do no her no favours to reject him. So she beamed – she didn't think he would notice after all.

"New shoes," she said, using her free hand to lift her skirt slightly so that he was able to peer down and see. He hummed appreciatively. "I feel like I'll fall over any minute in these death-traps."

"Hold onto me," he murmured; she wrapped her arm tightly around his and laid her other hand upon his bicep, consenting to his offer of support. He smiled softly down at her.

Everyone they passed in the halls stared as they made their way to the banquet hall, unused to seeing the pair together so intimately. Several of the female servants tittered as they passed – obviously the cleaning maid who had caught them had done her rounds. The rest just gazed incredulously at them, looking for all the world as people who had just found their next scandal to gossip about.

The hall was busy when they made their entrance; the room fell silent at their entrance, and by the time they had each taken their places at the head table (a considerable move up in station in Mordred's case), they had fallen into an uneasy chatter. Arthur turned to her with a pasted grin on his face, his eyes belying the worry he felt.

"You're alright?" he murmured as she took her serve of meat from the dish proffered. "He didn't… hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Arthur," she replied firmly, smiling despite the conversation. It would not do to let anyone believe the royal family had discord between them. "He was very good to me."

"Good, good," he sighed in barely disguised, though awkward, relief. "If he'd hurt you, I'd have to kill him."

"What? And leave me a widow? You wouldn't dare," she said, rolling her eyes at him. Mordred's mouth twisted up at the corners.

Arthur stood up, motioning for the noise to quieten down. Along the far left table the principal knights sat, an obvious gap in their ranks, where Mordred would sit. They all gaped at the scene above them; Mairwen smiled and raised her glass to them mockingly before downing the fresh water, avoiding the wine served with breakfast.

"People of Camelot," Arthur began. "It is my great pleasure to announce to you the marriage between Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot and my own sister, the Crown Princess Mairwen. They have been wed these few weeks past, and have my full blessing bestowed upon them," he pronounced; lifting up his goblet, he continued. "Please join me in toasting the happy couple. To Mairwen and Mordred!"

The cacophony of voices repeated the salute, before drinking in their name. Mairwen blushed as all eyes and all smiles turned to them. Mordred looked down at her.

"Shall we give them a show, my darling?" he whispered playfully, his pale eyes glinting with mischief. She leaned forward and placed her lips upon his delicately, smiling into his mouth at the whooping sounds made by Gwaine and the clearly audible _shut up_ uttered by Percival. When she pulled back, Mordred's eyes were light and he was beaming. Her lips widened automatically to match his expression.

"Alright, you two, no need to be so disgusting," Arthur japed, causing the entire room to burst into laughter. Her cheeks flushed beneath the powder, embarrassed, as she turned back to eating her meal. Below the table, Mordred held onto her hand – he did so for the rest of the gathering.

The rest of the day was filled with men and women of all rank popping into her personal space to wish her congratulations. Lucky Mordred; he got to endure an entire day's worth of crude jokes from the knights.

"Oh, I always knew he loved you! How romantic," the ladies would gush. She rolled her eyes internally; these women were likely to faint if they knew the real story, and their interpretation of her complicated relationship with her husband was romanticised at best. The men were courteous, but slimy as always; if nothing else came out of this marriage, at the very least there would be no more suitors to chase her around the castle. She finally managed to extricate herself from the court with a quick _I'm going to watch my husband train_ , and she rushed out of the castle as fast as she was able to and made her way into the green-grassed yard. Her steps slowed as she took in the sunlight, warm and golden upon her face, a cool breeze ruffling her hair.

The knights were easy to identify; a swirling mass of red and silver amongst the yellow-cast green. She could hear Arthur's command voice that generally irritated her, and today was no exception. Her face wrinkled as she heard him abuse Merlin; he was facing away from her and yelling at the poor servant.

"You know, if you're not happy with the way your armour's been polished, you could always do it yourself," she scowled, bumping her brother's shoulder as she passed him. She snatched the hauberk away from Merlin, thumping it into Arthur's chest. "Your arms aren't painted on, you know."

"I know that," he snapped. "But Merlin's my _ser_ vant – he's _supposed_ to polish my chainmail correctly."

"I pity you, brother. You have such problems," she sighed and shook her head mockingly, before immaturely sticking her tongue out at him.

"Oh – go and… kiss your husband or something," he replied, storming off to correct Sir Dameron's footwork.

"Where _is_ my husband?" She turned to Merlin after Arthur had departed. He shrugged.

"I think he's over there, with Gwaine and Percival," Merlin pointed at a group standing a little further from the rest. He looked over at her. "How are you? He didn't… force himself on you?" He winced as he spoke.

"No, he didn't," she replied firmly. She was getting a little irritated at the number of times this had been asked. First Arthur, then Gwen, then Gaius – Arthur had sent him to check her over, much to her extreme and everlasting embarrassment. It was as though he didn't trust her own judgement. "He made sure I was… willing."

Merlin cringed – too much information. "Okay, that's great. I'm just – going to go. See you, Mairwen!" And with that he dashed off to Arthur, who had been calling for him impatiently.

Mairwen moved off the practicing yard and over to the three knights standing around. As she neared, she could clearly see the expression on her husband's face; polite yet with an edge that suggested he was uncomfortable or irritated. She guessed from Gwaine's gesticulating that it could be both, and it was likely about her. Mordred's eyes met hers from around Gwaine; he smiled, and she was encouraged to go forth and engage in their conversation.

"What are we talking about, boys?" She sidled up into the group. Mordred turned her head from the other knights and pressed his mouth to hers, cradling her face in his hands. She drew herself closer, settling her fingers upon his waist, the armour made warm from the sun.

She pulled away abruptly when Gwaine cleared his throat loudly. He gave her a pointed look, eyebrow raised. Percival was looking off in any direction but them.

"What? I've seen _you_ kiss random ladies all the time, don't act all righteous and innocent with me," she accused, swatting Gwaine over the arm.

"You've got a point, my Lord," he chortled, darting behind Percival as she aimed for him again. "What are you doing out here in the dust and filth, Mairwen?"

She groaned aloud, burying her face in the crook of Mordred's arm. "They won't leave me alone," she grumbled into his chainmail; he chuckled sympathetically and slid his arm around her, squeezing gently. "Personal space and privacy seem to be concepts they don't understand."

"How about you stay here for the rest of the afternoon, and then we'll sneak away and avoid the courtiers until tonight's feast, hmm?" her husband asked softly. She nodded, her face sliding deeper below his arm. "I've got more training to do, so I'll see you soon, alright?"

She sighed – extricated herself from him – kissed his cheek in farewell – and moved off to the bench on the far side of the yard, where she contented herself with daydreaming for the rest of Mordred's training. Mairwen's thoughts involuntarily went to last night in her inaction. The sharp angles in the firelight, the look on his face as he gazed down at her bared form, the apex of her thighs; the almost reverent expression as he bent down to taste her; the way his mouth parted and his eyes hooded as he thrust into her; the curl of his hair as it broke away from his sweat-sheened forehead. She bit her lip and clenched her thighs together at the thought.

It was at that opportune moment that he had chosen to head towards her, his eyes darkening as he took in the flush that was rising up her throat onto her cheeks and the rigidity of her posture. "Come with me, lovely girl," he commanded, holding out his hand for her. Her blush deepened as the pet name brought back more flashes of memory. She desired him, that was no lie, and she felt no regret at letting him lead her wherever he desired. They moved as quickly as they dared through the castle, stopping each time a courtier would engage them in conversation. It did nothing to deter them from their goal; indeed, it only intensified the anticipation, if the looks he was throwing her were anything to go by.

By the time they had reached her chambers, she had already toed her shoes off and undone the buttons fastening the gown up around her neck, holding it up over her breasts to conceal her modesty. She was lucky her rooms were in a relatively isolated part of the castle, a choice she had actively made as a child to abstain from hearing her father with the whores he brought in regularly to ease the pain of his second wife's passing. Few patrols passed through the area, as heavily fortified as it was, though a little stuffy without the access to the outside world.

Mordred pressed her against the door, pulling down the top of her dress and exposing her, pushing her up the wooden frame so he could tug at her teats with his lips and teeth.

"Not here," she breathed, resting her head against the door, yanking him back by his hair. She twisted the key in the lock; the door unlatched, which meant no one was inside; she withdrew the key and shoved the door open, trying her best to lock the door from the other side as Mordred nipped at her bare neck and fondled her breasts between unlacing the string binding the dress to her. He left her to pull the rest of the fabric off her, and by the time she had fully bared herself he had also undressed.

"Did you use magic?" She asked incredulously. There was no way he could remove armour that fast normally.

"Yes," he replied, before lifting her up and tossing her on the bed, provoking her laughter as she bounced upon the mattress. He growled playfully as he nipped up her body, appearing over her and sliding into her slick sheath in one single plunge.

"Wait, wait! Stop!" She cried out as his cock scraped over her newly torn maidenhead, sending a fresh shockwave of stinging along the wound. He pulled out of her; a small smattering of blood dotted his flesh.

"I can't yet – it's too soon," she said miserably, rubbing her legs together to try and stop the aching, biting her lip to ease the feeling of disappointment that was threatening to turn to tears.

"My poor darling," he soothed comfortingly, brushing his palms down the sides of her thighs, his expression contrite. "I've injured you."

"No – just, inside a bit. Everything's a little tender right now," she whispered. "I don't think we can do… _that_ for a little while."

"Making love? Or fucking, if you prefer?" He laughed at her, grabbing her feet when she tried to swat him with them. "If you can't say it aloud, you aren't mature enough to be doing it."

"Well, I didn't have a choice, did I? I was forced to." She snapped in return, not having forgotten how he had manipulated his way into her bed, into her.

The sexually charged aura of the room turned cold; she imagined she felt the temperature drop several degrees.

"It's too late to turn back now," he suddenly spat, his eyes ablaze, wrenching her knees open and slipping between them, giving her no warning before shoving his middle and index fingers into her. "Don't lie to me! I didn't imagine it last night. You wanted this," he spoke, curling his digits up inside her, her back arching in unwilling pleasure at his attentions, mewling as he pumped into her. "You want me. Just look at you. Behaving like a wanton little whore, with only my fingers in you? A _very_ greedy girl."

"Please don't," she moaned, working her core against his hand even through the tears leaking from her eyes.

"You won't stop me; your puss is the wettest I've ever fucked, and I've fucked many," he replied mercilessly, bringing his thumb to her pearl and rubbing hard. She let out a high-pitched whine, her eyes squeezed shut and her knuckles white from gripping the duvet. "You'll let me in again - and again - and again, because I can give you what you need. _This_ is what you need."

She was weeping now, her mind betrayed by her all-too-willing body, wanting but not wanting, even as she careened towards the edge.

"That's it, Mairwen. Let go. Surrender to me now." She came with a sob, her breaths coming in quick pants, stuttering and hiccupping.

When he withdrew from her, she turned away from him and curled up into a ball. He moved off the bed, and she heard the sounds of him getting dressed.

"You - you _raped_ me," she said disbelievingly, her tears wetting the pillow beneath her.

"Don't you dare call it that," he spoke warningly. "I never hurt you - I'd never willingly hurt you and you know it. Stop being such a child."

With that, he left the room, slamming the door in his wake and leaving her alone in the twilight.

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 **Pretty dark in this chapter, but I feel like it needed to come to a head before they could start to talk things through, actually feel something for each other. Will say this story may be pretty sex-oriented from here on out, because Alex Vlahos is such a sexy beast and Mordred deserves some playtime.**

 **Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait, but here it is. Everything may seem a little rushed, but please bear in mind that large time jumps occur in this story, and it is more a collection of closely related one-shots than a cohesive, this-happens-then-this-happens story.**

 **Enjoy!**

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For weeks following the encounter he ignored her; beyond the necessary public appearances and standard courtesies, he spent no time with her, refused to talk to her and she spent the nights staring at his back on the far side of the bed, turned coldly from her. She could barely believe her own weakness, and she devoted frequent hours cursing herself for it, but she missed him; she missed his smile, his touch, his voice warm to her ears. It couldn't go on - people had started to notice. Arthur had been throwing her increasingly worried looks, and Gwen was constantly on the verge of saying something to her before abruptly turning and walking off.

Even the Knights had noticed, much to her surprise - they weren't all that bright, after all, no matter how skilled they were at defending the kingdom. Elyan had pulled her aside one evening after she had dined alone with her brother and his wife (a tense gathering, that was).

 _She was getting a little sick of being grabbed and pulled into alcoves now. As she stared into the dark face of the Queen's brother, she contemplated using Pendragon gold to install more torch brackets along the halls, particularly in nooks and crevices. She'd know who was coming then._

 _"You and Mordred aren't getting along," he stated, ever the blunt one. She adopted a politely confused expression and attempted to wave it off._

 _"Whatever do you mean, Sir? We get along as well as we've always done," she protested lightly, pressing herself back against the wall to make space between the knight and her person, lest a servant should catch her here. She had only just avoided one scandal, she didn't fancy being embroiled in another._

 _"Yeah," he scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. "That's why your husband wasn't at your private dinner with Arthur tonight."_

 _"My husband is… a_ very _busy man –"_

 _"No he's not; we all know his schedule. You mean he's avoiding you," he cut her off. He sighed, deflating a little. "Look, whatever happened, find a way to resolve it. He's bad-tempered, moody, and his training is suffering. No one wants to be around him. Please, just talk to him."_

 _Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. "Did he ask you to confront me about our private life?" She silenced him as he moved to respond. "Our married life is no business of yours – but if he sent you, tell him the fault lies with him and I'll forgive him when he apologises, and not a moment sooner!"_

 _She sidled out of the alcove and stormed away to her chambers, huffing indignantly._

She couldn't help how defensive she got when someone pointed out something she didn't like; she supposed it was a trait inherited from her father, for God knows how often conflict had been started in court over a simple misstep. For a while, she had stayed as angry at her husband as he was at her, but her righteous rage had deflated somewhat as she realised they had reached a sort of stalemate. It wouldn't do to hold her pride before her duty, so she resolved herself. For the sake of her marriage, for the sake of repairing something that had been broken before it was fully made, she had to talk to him.

It was a night not long after she had made this conclusion that she finally spoke up. Winter had set in; even despite the fire in the hearth she was freezing, her feet numb with cold and her teeth quietly chattering in the dark. Mordred either slept deeply or pretended not to hear her - she thought it likely to be the latter. She had been warned off telling Morgana about the prophecy concerning her, about her magic; in doing so, she had helped it come to fruition. If this man was her husband, did she not owe him her duty to prevent what had happened to her wayward sister from happening to him?

It was silent when she spoke. "There is a prophecy from the Old Religion about you," she said quietly. There was no reply; no acknowledgement. "You wanted to know why I had disliked you so. This is why."

A deep breath. Silence.

"My brother is the Once and Future King, destined to unite the lands of Albion and return magic to the land, with the most powerful sorcerer in the world at his side. Merlin, or Emrys to you."

She felt him shift beside her, the covers pulling as he moved to face her back. She stared steadfastly at the fire, determined to get it all out. "You... your role in this story is to unite with Morgana. To destroy everything Camelot stands for. You're – destined to kill my brother, Mordred." At the words she shivered; then, not being able to bear his proximity, she slipped out of the bed and snuck over to the rug by the fire, hugging her legs to her chest.

She waited in silence for a response, any kind of recognition that he had understood her. It was not long before she heard the creak of the bed, the padding of footsteps, him settling himself beside her on the carpet, gazing pensively at the fire.

"And the future is set in stone?" He asked quietly, his eyes smouldering with the reflection of the flames.

"I don't know," she replied softly. "Maybe. I couldn't take that chance before. He's my brother, and if I can protect him from something that will happen I'm going to take that chance. Do you understand?"

"Then why tell me anything? Why would you tell your brother's murderer the details of his fate? Why risk it?" Came the bitter torrent. She turned to look at him.

"Because things have changed; I'm your wife now," she said earnestly. His head tilted and he stared at her quizzically.

"What difference does that make?"

"It makes all the difference!" She responded vehemently. "I'm your wife, I'm _yours_ ; I owe you my loyalty, my body, my very self! I don't expect you to understand why I'm telling you. It is my duty to you to let you know all the details, to let you make an informed decision."

"And what kind of decision do you expect me to make? You or _Morgana_? What exactly do you think me capable of?" He spat at her; she shrunk back, cringing, cowed at his tone. His expression filled with remorse, his hand hesitantly reaching out to stroke along her cheek. "Oh, my sweet girl. I've ruined you, haven't I? No wonder you fear me so, and what I did - what I've done - to you..."

His hand dropped to his side; he shifted, getting up to leave - she grabbed onto his arm.

"No! Don't leave me," she gasped out, panicked, urging him back onto the floor with her. "I'm yours, I _belong_ to you, you can't -"

"Shhh, darling," he murmured as she clutched herself to him, wrapping herself tightly around him. He brought his hand up to run along her back, soothing her urgent movements. "I'll never leave you. I'll never leave you. I swear it."

She pulled back to stare at him, an indecipherable look decorating her visage. Her eyes grew steely, determined; she drew her fingers up to card through his hair, and leaned forward to press her lips against his. Her hands drifted down to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, disrobing herself in a similar fashion.

"Mairwen -"

" _No_ ," she said firmly, pushing him down to lay on the rug, moving down to grasp the waistband of his trousers and tugging them down, down, down. She threw them off to the side, creeping back up his body to sit astride him. His cock was at half-mast; she rolled her core down over him, bringing him to full arousal, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. He moved to tug at her waist, but she slapped his hands away.

"No touching," she commanded, a vindictive smile playing on her mouth as he groaned his frustration. Just to tease him further, she moved against him more, increasing the tempo before lifting herself away. She reached down and grasped his cock in hand - guided it towards her entrance - she impaled herself upon him, letting out a breathy cry as her head tipped back in delight.

It had been weeks since that first night she took him into her, and her cunt was unused to the sensation, an uncomfortable rippling feeling as she adjusted to his girth. In this position she could feel him keenly brushing up against that special place within her; she placed her palms down upon his chest for leverage as she rocked slowly atop him, eliciting groans of her name from the man below her. She was the princess; _she_ was the one in charge.

"What you did before," she said between pumps, "you'll never try it again."

"No," he gasped out, grabbing her thighs. She wrenched his hands away and slammed them on the floor beside his head, leaning forward to press her weight on them. It wasn't enough to stop him, but she was pleased when he obeyed her.

"Good," she continued. "Because if you do, I won't let you touch me. _Ever_. Again. Understood?"

"Yes," he replied, bucking his hips up, forcing him harshly into her. She whined and moaned as they drove into each other, his arms wrapping around her body, his eyes watching her above him. She reached completion with his name on her lips, followed rapidly by the grunt of her husband's release, sealing the promise he had made to her. Mairwen fell forward onto him, boneless and sated.

"I may have missed you these past few weeks, but meant what I said," she spoke into the darkness.

"I know," he answered, carding his fingers gently through her locks. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," was her reply. She shifted to look up at him, grinning lightly. "Now we're even - you're mine."

He laughed aloud. "I'm yours, as you are mine," he said earnestly. She nodded, kissing him lightly before shifting back down to lay on him, dozing in front of the fire, warm and content.

 _It wasn't love_ , she concluded before settling into sleep, _but in time it would be_.

It was immediately noticed by those nearest and dearest to her in the days following, her renewed relationship with Mordred. She wondered how the difference hadn't been picked up on by the entire populace of Camelot, so altered their association felt to her. She no longer felt their partnership was unequal; while she greatly enjoyed his controlling the activities of the bedroom, it was no longer patronising, no longer mocking as it was. She was his – but he was hers, too, and she made sure he knew it.

Yet she felt guilty. Not because of who the prophecy said he would become – that was another worry for another day – but rather because she felt like she was betraying her upbringing. Mairwen was raised (primarily by nannies and governesses) as the perfect princess; a proper example of courtesy, gentility and modesty. She didn't feel so modest with Mordred fucking into her from behind in an empty corridor or dragging her up into the loft of the stables to have his way with her.

It was somewhat shameful to her, the near-constant desire for him. By no means was it respectable behaviour for a lady of her station, and yet she couldn't bring herself to say anything to him. But – she needed to talk to someone. She needed reassurance that it was alright to feel the things she felt, do the things she did.

There was no chance of talking with a male – it wasn't something a woman could bring up in the presence of a man appropriately. Not that she wanted to; she cringed to herself as she imagined Arthur's face turn purple-green, or Gwaine looking terrified, or Merlin's uneasy smile before he dashed away as fast as he could. No. It would have to be Gwen. She knew her sister-in-law was a very modest woman, very conservative, unlike her sister had been. She missed Morgana; her advice, her wicked words, her glinting eyes and impish grin. Morgana would've known exactly what to say to make her feel better.

When she arrived at Arthur's chambers she knocked hesitantly upon the door, unsure as to whether or not she'd find the one she was looking for inside. The door swung open; Merlin's cheesy smile and large ears popped around the door.

"Hey, Mairwen," he chirruped, swinging the door wide to let her enter. A cursory glance around the room; it was empty of other people, though the floor was covered with the royal couple's clothing and the closet was empty. "Spring cleaning," he offered as she turned to look at him questioningly.

"Right," she said, letting it go, not wanting to interfere in another one of Merlin's strange tidying episodes. "Er – do you know where Gwen is?"

Merlin had moved to collect some of the strewn outfits, tripping over the leg of a chair as he went. "I think she's in the throne room, overseeing decorations," he replied, getting on hands and knees and crawling the rest of the way. "You know, for that King, Urien or something like that? He's visiting with a whole retinue of his staff."

"Ah," she spoke, her upper lip curling slightly in distaste. He had once professed his intention to marry her, much to her own consternation. She was especially thankful for Mordred in that moment. "Well, I'll just go find her, shall I?"

"Wait," he called; she turned to him. "Maybe I can help."

A short burst of laughter escaped her. "No," she answered, shaking her head. "No, I don't think you can."

"Why not? I'm more intelligent than I look," he said, scratching his head awkwardly and providing her the image of that claim proved untrue.

"No, really, you can't help me, Merlin," she insisted. "But the next time I have an issue you'll be the first one I come to."

"Seriously Mairwen, I'm good at solving problems," he grinned.

"Are you good at solving female problems? Of the bodily kind?" She asked him bluntly, enjoying watching his face blanch and his muttering of _no, no I'm not, not really, nope_. "Alright. I'm going to go find Gwen. I'll see you tonight, Merlin!"

Gwen was every inch the perfect queen as she called out polite orders, directing the movements of the new chandelier as it made its way to the rafters, the bouquets of flowers along the tables, the crests of Rheged and Camelot pulled up along the walls in even fashion. She was smiling and beautiful in the light filtering through the window, casting a warm shine on her violet gown and dark curls. Mairwen's heart lifted at seeing her so at ease with herself, so confident in her own ability. It had taken much to get her there.

"Gwen!" She called, beckoning her brother's wife to her. A quick murmur to a servant; he took over shouting commands, and the brown-skinned beauty made her way to sister-in-law across the room. "I was wondering if I could talk to you privately," she asked quietly, linking her own arm with Gwen's.

"Of course," she replied. "Let us go up to the battlements."

The air was cool and still in the afternoon sunlight, tinged with the winter chill that would return with vengeance during the night hours. Gwen ushered the guards away with a wave of her hand, ensuring the privacy Mairwen had asked for.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about?" She asked kindly, watching and waiting for her sister-in-law to organise her thoughts and divulge what was on her mind.

"I was wondering," she began, and paused. "Is it… is it normal for me to – well –"

"Want your husband?" Gwen cut in, smiling knowingly. Mairwen sighed in relief, ignoring the woman's implication of having had relations with her brother. She knew it happened, she didn't need to know _how_ , though.

"So… it is normal, then?"

"Yes, it is normal, Mair!" She laughed, squeezing her tightly. "And a good thing, too – all marriages must have children."

She paled at the thought. "Children? I'm much too young for children!"

Gwen smiled gently, pressing her hand between hers. "Children will come when they come, Mair. There's no stopping it – well, no _natural_ way. And besides," her tone grew solemn and her smile thin, "Camelot must have heirs."

Mairwen's brow wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean by – oh, _Gwen_."

It was clear that Gwen had tried her hardest to withhold the tears, but to no avail. She angrily brushed the offending droplets away with her sleeve.

"We don't know why. Arthur refuses to send for anyone, even though it's clear Gaius doesn't know anything," she said tearfully, exposing the dark secret of Camelot. "He doesn't want it to get out that – that the King and Queen are b- _barren_."

"You don't know that! Sometimes these things take time, Gwen," Mairwen tried, although even she knew it was futile. It had been years since they had been married; by now, at least a miscarriage should have occurred.

"We've tried everything, every practice, every remedy! But nothing's working, nothing _has_ worked," she said. "We love each other, of course we do; but we've accepted we'll never have children. It – it's part of the reason Arthur insisted you marry Mordred... He needs an heir. Please don't hate him, Mairwen, you were never supposed to know."

Mairwen stood there silently, looking out at the town below, processing her words. She tried to find it in her to be angry at her, angry at Arthur for projecting his own failures onto her. She tried to dredge up any sensation of righteous indignation she could, but she just felt sad. Sad for Gwen, a born mother, for Arthur, pressured to bring forth sons and daughters for the kingdom. They would've been good parents.

"So… my title… It isn't heir presumptive?" Mairwen said slowly, working it out. "Arthur really does mean for the Pendragon line to continue through me?"

"It was one of the conditions of Mordred's marrying you," Gwen replied. "Mordred had to give up any claims to a successive dynasty, and allow his children to bear your name. He thought it was more than fair, considering."

Mairwen snorted softly – manipulative bastard.

"I'm so sorry, Gwen," she turned to her sister by marriage. "Why do bad things happen to the best people?"

"I don't know, Mair. I don't know."

After a time, Gwen returned to the hall to continue overseeing the decorating, having recomposed herself into the polite, stoic queen she always displayed. Mairwen stayed on the battlements, looking out, contemplating. There was an added weight now, the burden of creating heirs to the throne, of perhaps even taking up the throne someday. She didn't like to think of that. Perhaps best of all, it meant that Morgana had to work even harder to take the throne of Camelot; if Arthur should fall, the crown rested in her hands. And with Mordred as a husband, her magical, formidable husband, Morgana faced a considerable obstacle to her goal. It brought her no small modicum of relief. The afternoon turned a grey twilight; she barely noticed, still looking out at the kingdom below.

It was where Mordred found her some time later. She was shivering from the cold, but was loath to go inside; she felt more than a little trapped by responsibility. The outdoors had a strange feeling of liberation to her, freedom from her duties.

"I've been looking for you, lovely girl," came his voice from behind. He pressed into her, warming her body with his own. "You're freezing, you should've come inside." His hands ran up and down her arms, the friction generating heat. "What are you doing out here?"

She leaned back against him and sighed. "Thinking," she murmured. "I just can't believe it. Gwen and Arthur can't have children."

"I guessed," he said, folding his arms around her. She reached up to grasp his forearms in reciprocation. "Before the wedding, Arthur asked me –"

"– to ensure our children are Pendragons by name," she finished. "Gwen told me."

"Ah," he chuckled. "I thought you'd be rather mad at me, then."

"I thought about it," she joked. "I'm not surprised, really, that you struck a deal with my brother for me. But no – I'm just sad for them."

"Gwen should've been a mother," Mordred said. "And I did not make a bargain for you, you make it sound as though our marriage was a business arrangement."

"It was hardly romantic!" She protested, hitting him on the arm lightly, turning around to face him. He adjusted his grip on her as she wound her arms about his neck, pulling gently at the hairs on his nape.

"No," he agreed, pressing his mouth languorously to hers, deepening the kiss and sending pleasurable shudders up her spine. "Was that romantic enough for you?"

"Hmmm," she shrugged noncommittally. "Could've been better."

"Oh, really?" he asked, his lip curling mischievously and his eyes glinting.

Her exuberant laughter was cut off as Mordred kissed her, the twilight giving way to darkness and stars.

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 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Please feel free to review and let me know how I'm doing!**


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